


New Balls?

by Su_Whisterfield



Series: Island Life [10]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Fur, M/M, Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Kurt has has a new outfit.Logan is confused.Horny, but confused.Chapters 2 and 3 are fillos for the story.
Relationships: Logan/Kurt Wagner
Series: Island Life [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544128
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Why?  
Why is he flouncing around his habitat in a tennis dress?  
Where did he find it?  
Why does my cock think he looks hotter than sin?

I mean, Jeannie looks damn good in her little green mini skirt, let’s be honest, she’d look beautiful in a trash bag. But the thing with the green mini; it don’t leave nothin’ to the imagination, if ya’ get my drift an’ you get used to her lovely long legs flashin’ in front of yer eyes.  
This? It’s white, it covers him from neck to mid calf, he sashays around, humming, tiding up his habitat, like some ‘50s housewife on acid.  
And I can’t take my fuckin’ eyes off him.  
What’s he wearing under it? The idea of his cock an’ balls hanging free...  
Or is he wearing women’s underwear too?  
Or a jock? Boxers?

He bends down, graceful, always graceful.  
The skirt is long, I don't get an eyeful, but the thoughts goin’ through my head more than make up for it. Suddenly, I understand why Victorian guys got hot under the collar over a flash of ankle.  
It’s the thought of it. Of liftin’ the hem. Feeling his flesh under it.  
Of running my hand up those muscular thighs, stroking the fur.  
It’d be so easy.

He looks at me, over his shoulder, eyes hooded, seductive, knowing.  
I lick my lips.  
“Like it?” He turns towards me, leans back against the counter.  
“It’s certainly a new look. What’s it in aid of?”  
“Oh, it started with a conversation, between myself and Jubilee.”  
“Jubes is just a kid, what ya’ doin talkin’ ‘bout stuff like that with her.”  
“Stuff like what? Logan, _schatz_ , have you seen to her recently? Talked with her? She’s a grown woman.” A graceful shrug, toss of the head.  
“Where d’ya get a woman’s dress in your size from?” He has narrow hips but broad shoulders, he’s definitely not girl shaped.  
There’s a dramatic sigh. “ _Liebling_ , it’s not a woman’s dress, it’s my dress. I’m a man. So it’s a man’s dress. And there’s a shop in San Francisco, just around the corner from that little place I bought the butt plug from.”  
I rub the back of my neck. So, a highly visible, not to mention, male, member of our ruling council goes swanning off to San Fran to buy sex toys and dresses. Slim an’ Gorgon are gonna’ have conniptions. What did he do with his security detail? Probably invited them in to ask their opinion on the colour. In both shops. I decide I don’t want to know.  
“You don’t like it?”  
“Elf, you look hot as hell.”

If Kurt has an inhibition, I’ve yet to find it. He looks at me, head bowed, through lowered lashes, bites his lip. Play acting. He’s fey, saucy, sensual, he knows exactly what he’s doing. I shake my head. I’ve fucked a hell of a lot of people, but he’s utterly unique, not just physically, I have absolutely no clue how that funny, fuzzy, head works.

He runs a hand up his thigh, ruching the fabric slightly, I lick my lips again, eyes drawn to his hand. What _is_ he wearing under there?  
He moves towards me, pirouettes, his tail means he always sways slightly, the weight of it. He moves like a dancer. His strong arms around my neck, he leans into me and our lips meet. Sweet, soft warm mouth. He doesn’t smell of sulphur as much as he does when he’s working, it might be days since he’s ‘ported. Does he mind being tied to The Council, rather than a team?  
His tongue runs across the roof of my mouth, god that sensation. Now is not the time for questions.

I run my hands down the curve of his back, cup that shapely ass.  
My beautiful blue angel.  
I start to move the fabric up his thighs, slowly, inch by inch.  
“Oh.” His head goes back, arms still around my shoulders. “It tickles...”  
“Fuckin’ lovely.” I breathe in that delicate, pointed ear. I put a hand under the skirt, touch that soft, strong flesh, stroke the velvet fur the wrong way. My hand creeps higher, soft fur gives way to even softer satin. Aha. “Ah, my naughty, naughty boy.”  
“Boy?” I shrug, the package under my hand certainty doesn’t belong to a boy. I nuzzle his soft hair, his cock is hardening as I play my fingers over the smooth fabric. “Oh.”  
The sensation of soft, expensive fabric and his warm, hard cock is good. His scent is changing, deepening as he becomes aroused, as I fondle him.  
With him still leaning against the kitchen counter, I move, kneel down before him, lifting the white cotton, rest my cheek against satin. The fabric holds the smell as the skirt forms a tent around me.

My breath is moist on his groin, his cock hard, leaking a damp patch, I run my hand across the taut fabric and he has a full body shiver.  
“Liked that didn’t you?”  
“ _Ja_.” Soft, breathy voice.  
The kitchen isn’t the most comfortable of places, I stand and throw him over my shoulder, with an outraged squeak. I slap his white skirted rump.  
“Hush you!” I carry him into the lounge with the big sofa. If I tried this with Jeannie or ‘Ro (or Slim) I’d be crusin’ for a bruising. Or at the very least a strict word about consent and appropriate behaviour. But he’s giggling into my shoulder. Sex with Kurt involves quite a lot of laughter  
“Put me down, you bloody Neanderthal!”  
“Now, now, dear, no need for course language.” I dump him on the sofa, as requested, not quite gently. He makes a not very dignified yelp.  
I look down at him, arms akimbo, white skirts draped around him. He grins up at me, one bare foot comes up and rests on the bulge in my groin. I put my hand over it, squeeze the lean, muscular ankle, gently. Like the rest of him, his feet are unique, dexterous, strong, the toes flex against my crotch, teasing me.

Now where were we? Oh, yeah, I run my hands down those strong calves, part his knees. The white skirt falls, a perfect contrast to the indigo fur, I plant a kiss on the inside of his knee. The satin panties are still damp in a spot from his pre-cum, his cock still half hard.  
I lower my head, blow on the wet, he arches his back, sensitive, oh, what a pretty picture you make, lad. I mouth his cock through the thin fabric, bring my hand up to cup his balls, the satin feels expensive, I don’t pretend to know much about underwear, but I know my Elf; they’ll have cost a small fortune. His cock twitches against my mouth and he moans, the damp patch is growing, I pull back slightly, blowing on it again. I run my thumbs along the join between satin and velvet fur, his hips start to thrust, I hold them still while my lips trace the hard cock and balls.  
Sweet.  
He comes with a bone cracking arch of his spine and several loud cries.

The panties are a mess, he shimmies out of them, tosses them and they hit me in the face with a warm, soggy splat.  
“Hey, brat, cut that out.” I launch them over my shoulder, not caring where they end up. I swat the side of his fuzzy ass and he smirks at me, I repeat, brat. I undo my jeans, throw the hem of the skirt over his face, he makes an indignant sound.  
My cock springs free, eager, damn he’s a beautiful sight.  
I lower myself onto him, my cock against his, still damp and hot, oh, that’s good, the smell rises about us, the smell of sex, the strong legs wrap about me, pulling me close.  
Fur and musk and cum, fuckin’ love it, I start thrusting up into the soft fuzz. Oh, yeah, yeah. Fuck yeah. My cum makes more of a mess on the immaculate fur and the crisp fabric.

“So,” he looks up with those laughing eyes. “You do approve?”  
“Sure,” I smile down at him, as always, his light mood is infectious. “Certainly livened the afternoon up.”  
“Hm. I may need a different colour for the next one.”  
“Huh?” Next one?  
“Grass, pollen too, not to mention, ahem, other stains.” He shrugs. “White might not be the most practical colour for Krakoa.” My face must be a picture, he stops, mid-flow.  
“You’re not...”  
“I’m not what? I’m not going to keep it for titillating you in private. It’s nice. I look good in it.”  
“...In front of everyone?”  
“Oh, don’t be so fuddy duddy. It’s only a skirt.”  
“Babe..”  
“Do _not_ call me that.” He scowls.  
He’s really not keen on me callin’ him girly nicknames. But he’s wearing a dress? I am officially confused. He’s been wearing a sarong around the Island too, lots of guys have, gets hot here, particularly in the afternoon. But this? This is a woman’s dress. Okay, a man’s dress but, ya’ know what I mean, what will folks think?

It’s Kurt. He doesn’t care what people think, I know that, we all know that. I shake my head, move in to kiss him by way of apology.  
“Sorry, Elf.”  
He kisses me back, I’m forgiven. Baffled, but forgiven.

“I wonder if Jean and Scott would be up for mixed doubles?” He muses.  
I pull my head back sharply. “What!” Well, that’s a distracting image... my cock thinks so too. He sees my face, feels the proof of my arousal against his belly.  
“Tsk. Tennis, I meant for tennis, you dirty old man.”  
“Hm, I kinda like these balls being being just mine.” I cup the fuzzy blue pair in question.  
“Seeding.” He whispers in my ear.  
“Huh?”  
“Serving an ace.” His voce is soft, husky. “Volley. A. Good. Hard. Volley.” He rolls those slim hips. “Ser-vi-ce.” He whispers, slowly, stretching the syllables “Spank. Sparring partner. Ball boy. Deep shot...”  
Oh, fuck, I love it when he talks dirty. I growl and proceed to make more of a mess of him and the tennis dress too.

Game on.


	2. The tennis dress




	3. The Tennis Dress, Logan approves

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr requested Kurt-in-a-skirt...
> 
> The discussion on men’s/women’s dresses, is from Eddie Izzard, of course.
> 
> Interviewer: “Famously, you’ve dressed up in women’s dresses.”  
> Eddie: “No, I wear dresses. They’re my dresses, I buy them. It’s like when women wear trousers, they’re not cross-dressing. They’re not wearing men’s trousers, they’re wearing trousers.”


End file.
